Trust
by Victory4Zim
Summary: AU 10 year old Spencer Reid has lived nearly his entire life in constant fear and agony, until rescued by the BAU. Can he ever adjust to a life where he is loved and finally be able to trust someone? Summary sucks but story is better. Warnings inside
1. Chapter 1

**~Author's Note~ I am really sorry for abandoning you guys, and I know that this doesn't make up for it, but don't give up on me yet, I am still here and I have begun to work on chapter 3. I had to re-edit both chapters, and I once again have inspiration, Chapter 3 will be up just as soon as it is done and edited. Also I would like to thank my AWESOME beta-reader for helping me out, this would never have gone anywhere without you. I would also like to thank all of those WONDERFUL people who reviewed, followed, and/or Favorited, I love you! Your support makes my day!**** I know you are probably bored of this AN by now, so, let the story begin!~ Victory4Zim**

Disclaimer: Why do they even have this? If anybody here actually owned Criminal Minds, they certainly wouldn't be here! I do not own/make money off of anything that you may recognize.

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE OF A CHILD; INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

Sometimes, when I am terrified of the darkness of my surroundings that threatens to consume me, I recall a woman's face. Long, unmanageable blond hair flows from her scalp. Her pale skin and gaunt features give her a phantom-like appearance. She has large expressive brown eyes that are alive with the thirst for knowledge and some warm emotion that I don't recognize. Her face is not memorable by any means, but to me she is everything. I've never even met her, yet I feel as if I've known her my entire life, but, that's impossible, isn't it?

When I am allowed to sleep, I always have the same dream; a small, scrawny boy, who appears to be about two or three years old, is brushing his teeth in navy blue pajamas labeled 'Star Trek', giggling at his reflection. He is very small, only reaching over the sink by a stepping-stool. A mop of mousy-brown hair covers his head, some of it falling onto his face. Bulky glasses frame his large hazel eyes, making them appear even larger. By looking into his eyes, I can tell that this child is not any regular toddler, behind the bright gleam of innocence and curiosity that only children can possess, is an older, unyielding wisdom, far beyond his years. After he rinses his mouth and dries his face with a nearby towel, he nearly falls from the stool in fright. Behind him stands the man I know now as Master. There is nothing special about him; he could easily be lost in a crowd. Master is a tall, yet slightly pudgy individual. He has thinning brown hair and the coldest blue eyes that I have ever seen. His calloused hands are wrapped around the little boy's mouth, preventing the slightest sound from escaping. I scream at the child to call for help, run, and fight back, anything! But neither of the figures even acknowledges my presence. Master bends down and whispers into the toddler's ear with a menacing tone.

"Come with me and don't put up a fight or your mommy dies." Eying the gun in his other hand, the child says something, but his words are muffled by Master's vicious grip. Master removes his hand for a moment, allowing the boy to speak.

"Please Sir," he says, "My mommy is real sick, I'll go with you, just don't hurt my mommy" Master must've taken this as consent, for moments later; the little boy is shoved into a waiting van.

I woke up with a jolt. Yawning, I sat up from my current position on the floor and stretched my aching limbs. Master's lesson really did a number on me; I winced as I remembered every mark with perfect clarity. I really tried to please him, but that was nearly impossible.

Suddenly, I heard the door unbolting. Instinctively, I scrambled as far away from the door as my leash and collar would allow. The metal collar bit into my already raw neck, drawing blood. I whimpered as he stalked over to me. When I felt His rough, unforgiving hands caress my face, I shivered, mentally preparing myself for what is coming. He presses His mouth against mine, forcing His tongue down my throat as His cold hands travel lower and lower, tracing the scars He had made. I knew not to make a sound, for it was against The Rules. Still, I couldn't help but whimper when Master slid off His pants and crawled on top of me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I willed my mind to take me far, far away from Master's stony silence and cold hands. By the time He was done, I felt numb and dirty.

When I got up, I could feel the blood running down my legs. Painfully, I shuffled over to where Master was putting His clothes back on. Briefly, I wondered how clothing felt, Master had never allowed me to have any, I was dirty, and filthy animals like me didn't deserve such a privilege. "M-Master?" I stammered. "M-may I h-have some f-f-food? I-I haven't eaten s-since l-last week." I regretted those words just as soon as they left my mouth.

I had broken the number one Rule! Never speak unless granted permission. Without warning, I was thrown into the wall. I cried out when I felt my left leg explode in agonizing pain accompanied by a sickening crack. "WHAT?" He bellowed, "You think that I don't treat you right? You think you deserve better than what I give you? You are nothing but my used plaything. Let me show you what you _deserve._" I felt my heart race when I saw Him grab the whip. "Kneel." He ordered. My leg throbbed in protest when I attempted to follow His order. It was excruciating, but it was far better than making him even angrier.

Suddenly, I felt white hot fire erupt from my back. My agonized screams droned out Master's curses as the whip came down again and again, over and over. Each strike reopened an old wound and made the pain even more intense. Eventually, the sheer agony became too much and I fell into the dark bliss of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

** Disclaimer: Nothing is mine**

It was one of the worst cases the BAU had ever seen, the ones with children always were. In Las Vegas, Nevada, twelve boys aged nine to eleven were strangled in three weeks. Strangely, there was no sign of sexual assault on any of the victims. The case was extremely difficult, but after nearly two weeks of investigation, they finally got a lead.

Phillip Duchannes was reported by one of his coworkers for suspicious behavior. He fit the profile perfectly; a narcissistic sexual sadist white male in his mid thirties to early forties with an above average intelligence. He became a nurse at a local children's hospital after being denied acceptance into any medical schools. His coworkers described him as charming, though he had an explosive temper. Duchannes was reported after he had been seen blowing up at a coworker. His stressor was finding out his home was being foreclosed on three weeks prior, just when boys started turning up dead.

Hotch had to drive to his isolated farmhouse so Morgan wouldn't run over any of the other agent's vehicles just to get there. Morgan couldn't help it, he just couldn't stand the thought of Duchannes taking another innocent life. Finally, the black SUV arrived at the man's home.

Immediately, everyone split up and stepped into the house. Echoes of "clear" bounced off the walls, signaling that the man had escaped. The only trace of the unsub was a small key carelessly dropped on the spotless floor. After examining the room, Morgan stood to leave but stopped when something in the window caught his eye. After further examination, he noticed a large barn at the back of the house, hidden by the trees.

He pulled out his mic. "I found a barn, about fifty yards from the house." Minutes later Hotch, along with himself, Rossi, Prentiss, and JJ were standing outside the barn, guns drawn. They were surprised to find the barn locked with a deadbolt. _What's in here that he doesn't want anyone else to find?_ Morgan thought. Immediately, he pulled out the key he had found. Cautiously, the team aimed their guns and pushed open the door. Instantly, they were hit with an awful stench. It smelled like a mixture of waste, blood, urine, and something else no one wanted to identify. When their eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, and they could see what was inside, the team gasped in shock.

Curled up in the fetal position on the dirt floor was a little boy. He was naked and every inch of him was bruised, scarred, or bleeding. It sickened Morgan when he saw his back. It was completely mauled. The child's back was soaked in blood and had bits of flesh hanging from it. Slowly, he put his gun back in its holster and edged to the trembling form. "It's alright," he whispered. The boy turned towards him and scrambled to the wall. Like his back, the boy was badly beaten and scarred; he also noticed that his left leg was bent at an odd angle. Morgan could literally count each and every one of his ribs. But his face was the hardest to look at.

The child's face was stretched and had sharp angles, an obvious sign of starvation. His eyes were large and sunken in, the hazel orbs were filled with so much fear, pain, sorrow, and innocence that he had never seen before. The agent felt a pang of anger when he saw the chain around his neck. This boy was being treated even worse than most animals. Slowly, he kneeled before the shaking boy and held up his hands to show that he meant no harm. "My name is Derek. It's all right, I'm not gonna hurt you."

While the others urgently called for a medic, the boy spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Promise?"


End file.
